That Time of Night
by AmbyrRose
Summary: When the sun goes down, the truth comes out.  Some Bade, Some Tandré. Mild swearing on Jade's part
1. Wish

**AN: My favorite couples are Bat and Tandré, and I've already done two Bat fics, so I figured it was about time for a Tandré. Somehow it got stretched into including everybody. Please, please PLEASE review! Reviews of any kind make me HAPPY!**

**W****is****h**

Day is a time for actions; night is a time for wishes.

Trina Vega could fall asleep standing up if someone pressed a pillow against the back of her head. She'd always been like that; ever since they were children, Tori would stay up all night watching the stars and listening to her music and she would crash into bed unconscious. But she never really minded; anything she missed was made up for in the vivid brilliance of her dreams.

She never told anyone about her dreams, not a single soul. They were hers and hers alone – something to look back on, look forward to, treasure when stress wore her thin. One dream in particular brought a smile to her face even when asleep, and she never tired of it, no matter how often she dreamt it.

She was onstage, somewhere in New York, with tier upon tier of admiring faces staring down at her, sometimes applauding wildly, sometimes reverently silent. The sleek black dress hugged her every curve and cut off to expose her gloriously long legs. Her heels clicked across the stage in perfect time to the music rising from the orchestra pit, and the background dancers faded in comparison to the shining star that was Katrina Vega.

This in itself was nothing; people dreamt of Broadway all the time, surely someone could understand, even dream with her. But there was a reason Trina kept this buried deep in the back of her mind, accessible only when fantasy encroached on reality's boundaries. See, in the dream the golden voice, the voice that angels themselves envied, pouring from Trina's mouth wasn't Trina's.

It was Tori's.


	2. Bluff

**B****luf****f**

Day is a time for talking; night is a time for bluffing.

He glanced briefly up from his cards, first left, then right. Danno was obviously folding; Crazy Al might just have it made. No matter; he was confident in his hand. He narrowed his eyes, and then his face split in a grin as he threw his cards down. "Read 'em and weep, boys."

The others groaned and slapped down their hands. "Great stars, man," Danno said as he scooped the entire pot into his corner. "How do you do it?"

"I've just got the magic touch," he said easily, leaning back with one hand behind his head and the other holding his cup. He sucked deeply through the crazy straw, swallowed it all with a loud _gulp_ and set it back down. "So, that's the last of the Bottlecaps to me, and Crazy Al's almost out of Skittles . . . draw up another hand, I think I'm going for Danno's Snickers bar."

Danno groaned, but did as he said. He chuckled deviously, fingering his lucky green rabbit's foot. Never failed. He was in for a treat tonight –

"ERWIN! IT'S TIME FOR BED, IT'S A SCHOOL NIGHT!"

All three men jumped; cards and candy flew everywhere. "Aw, Mom!" he groaned over his shoulder to the stairs. "Just one more hand!"

"ERWIN!"

"Five more minutes!"

"I'M GONNA COUNT TO THREE!"

He sighed, shoulders slumping. "Looks like I gotta call it a night. How 'bout I continue sucking you two dry Saturday?" He looked pointedly over his shoulder. "At Al's place?"

"Sure thing, man," Danno said, sweeping up the cards and attempting to filch some of Al's remaining candy and getting a slap in the head for the trouble.

"ER_WIN!_"

"I'M COMING, I'M COMING! Good Gandhi . . ." he scooped up his candy and dumped it into his bagel sack, picking up his coconut with his free hand. "I trust you gentlemen can see yourselves out?"

"Sure thing." Danno said, standing.

"Yeah, no problem," Crazy Al echoed, picking up his car keys. "Seeya Saturday."

"It's a date." And still sucking coconut milk from his crazy straw, Sikowitz hurried upstairs to get ready for bed.


	3. Unmask

**U****nmas****k**

Day is a time for playacting; night is a time for unmasking.

Tori still couldn't sleep. Trina was passed out; she could hear her murmuring in her sleep across the hall. But no matter how she tossed and turned, she couldn't get comfortable. So she blinked herself fully awake, threw her hair up in a ponytail and went downstairs, stepping out onto the front porch.

She loved everything about night, especially in her neighborhood. The air was sweet, without any cars driving by to pollute it; crickets and cicadas serenaded each other across the lawns, and the stars blinked out secrets in codes only they knew. She took a deep breath, propping her elbows on her knees and her chin on her fists.

There was only one problem with night. It always made her feel incredibly alone.

On an impulse, she whipped out her phone. She knew how late it was, knew he was probably asleep, but she couldn't resist; he was her best friend, after all. If anybody could chase away the lonely ache curling around her stomach, it was him.

The second ring was cut in half as he answered. "Tori?"

"Hi, André." Her mouth was suddenly dry; she felt so stupid – who calls up someone at this hour for no good reason?

André, on the other hand, didn't seem too worried. "Hey. What's happening, muchacha?"

She had to smile, just a little bit. "I couldn't sleep."

"Me neither," he confessed, and she could hear papers rustling on the other end. "I don't mind not sleeping, though. Gives me time to think."

"Oh, yeah? About what?"

He didn't answer, but she heard the distinct sound of him settling back in his seat. Probably against his bed. He always sat on the floor with his back against it. "Got a new song for you. Wanna hear it?"

She perked up immediately. She loved André's music. She loved being the first to hear it, watching his fingers move deftly over the keys or strings of whatever instrument he happened to be playing. She wished she were there. Or he was here. But in a way, she liked this; she knew him well enough that if she just closed her eyes, she could imagine it all. "Go for it."

He propped up the phone, and she heard the fuzzy echoing of speaker phone. Guitar began, gentle but getting louder and louder. And then his voice, rich and smooth and soothing. "_I don't know but I think I may be Falling For You, dropping so quickly . . ._"

The song was light, playful, just him and his guitar, but somehow totally different. She could tell by the tone of his voice. Usually he sang out loud and strong, calling to anyone who would listen. This one was quiet, personal; he was singing to _her_. And she could feel her breath catching with each new line.

"_I am trying not to tell you, but I want to – I'm scared of what you'll say, so I'm hiding what I'm feeling. But I'm tired of holding this inside my head . . ._"

She found herself smiling, a big, goofy grin that only André could draw from her, and she was feeling something amazing, something incredible, a dizzying, swooping energy in the pit of her stomach and the bottom of her heart and _Dear God, is this what love feels like?_ And still the song played on, André singing to her like she was the only one who mattered, and by the second chorus she found she could join in, their voices melding to perfection.

"_I've been spending all my time just thinking 'bout you. I don't know what to do – I think I'm Falling For You. I've been waiting all my life and now I've found you. I don't know what to do – I think I'm Falling for You . . . Falling For You . . ._"

The song faded; she could still hear the echo of guitar on the other end, but André was almost reverently silent. "Wow," he finally said, picking the phone back up.

"That was amazing," she sighed, wrapping her arms around herself. That really was the only way to describe it; their voices together still sent shivers up her spine. If it had been daytime, with hard light and bright colors camouflaging all emotion, she would have laughed or made some comment to break the mood. But now, at night, the suppressed feelings and casual dismissals just wouldn't come. She wanted to tell him. She _had_ to tell him. She had to laugh a little at the sappiness of it, and André asked, "What?"

"You ever thought we're, like, perfect for each other?"

"Both actors, one sings and the other writes songs, same sense of humor, both relatively sane, at least for Hollywood Arts . . ." His tone as he instantly ticked off the reasons told her what he'd been thinking of before she called.

"I'd say we'd have a pretty good chance of making it," she said, feeling her heart thud painfully at her own daring. The night around her seemed much more alive now, the crickets shrilling in her ears and the stars blinding her as she held her breath, and waited, and hoped.

"You know what?" he said slowly, deliberately. "I think I'd say so too. In fact, I think we'd have more than a good chance." He paused, and Tori realized he was just as nervous as her. "Tori, I think we'd make it."

She let out her breath in a rush, and the night was beautiful and perfect. She started to laugh, just from sheer relief, and he joined in, until they were both breathless from joyous laughter. "André?" she gasped as the giggles died away. "If you were here, would you kiss me?"

He didn't reply for a moment. "Where's 'here'?"

She leaned back against one of the pillars, sighing. "My front porch."

"Don't move," he said, and the last thing she heard before the phone disconnected was the rumble of a car engine turning over.


	4. Peace

**P****eac****e**

Day is a time for arguing; night is a time for peace.

He knew the stares. He knew the whispers and sniggers and jeers that would forever float behind his back. He wished he could ignore them, but each of them was like a paper cut in the back: small enough to cause agony. So he ducked his head, clung to his friends, and never, ever turned around. It was easier to hear the laugh than see it happening.

He wished he could explain. He wished he could tell them all why he had Rex, why he _needed_ him, but he just . . . couldn't do it. He could barely explain to himself. Or his mom. The doctors had tried. And failed. She couldn't handle it. She'd left.

That was when Rex became more than Robbie's way to cope. He became Robbie's friend.

But none of that changed the fact that he could be a real butt-monkey.

Robbie knew it as well as anyone else; after all, he was the one who spent half his time arguing with a . . . no, he wouldn't say it, it was too offensive. But he knew Rex almost as well as he knew himself; abrasive, argumentative, outspoken. Everything he couldn't bring himself to be. Sometimes he wished he had half his bravery; sometimes he wished Rex had half his sense. They were a team, but a roller coaster of one; one that left him motion sick in a hurry.

That's why he loved night so much. It was when Rex settled down, got sleeper and mellower by the minute. When he brushed his teeth, combed his hair, got him into his pajamas and actually got a mumbled "thank you" in response. But as much as he hated to admit it – and wouldn't dream of admitting it to Rex – the best part was when he put him in his little adjoining bed, pulled the covers up and watched his eyes close.

Asleep. Beautiful.

Waiting was the hardest part. Waiting for his dad to climb in, counting the seconds until the entire house was silent. Scrambling for a dark jacket, hat, anything that would make him harder to recognize. Four numbers punched in to the alarm system; a "beep" as it disarmed. And finally, _finally_ out the door.

Down the porch steps, down the driveway, left at the corner. He knew it was crazy. Even an hour without Rex used to put him nearly over the edge. But there was a light at the end of this tunnel – or this street, as the case may be.

He took a deep, steadying breath.

The last house on the street – the one with the brick façade – had one light on, in the back. He hopped the fence, quickly, and tossed a treat to the Retriever darting toward him. He almost pulled out his cell and called, but that didn't feel right. There was really only one way to do this.

She was out before the second pebble hit the windowpane.

Her pajamas were nothing more than a tent-like t-shirt and some shorts barely peeking out from under. Her blonde hair, drawn back in a messy bun, was an absolute mess. There was a red line on her face from where the sheet had creased against her face, and there wasn't a trace of makeup on her lips or around her blue eyes.

He still couldn't get over how beautiful she was.

Her face broke into a wide smile, and she slid the door closed and slipped out into the yard, her hair shining silver in the moonlight. "Robbie!"

He caught her by the waist as she threw her arms around his neck. Her. The reason behind his screenname; the reason he'd finally broken free of constant, constant Rex; the reason he felt hope again.

'Course, her parents didn't like him. He couldn't really blame them. He didn't really like himself much, at this point. Getting better. So he waited for night, daydreamed, held his breath, meekly carried Rex around. Texted her under a false name when he was feeling daring. But mostly waited for night, waited for hope, waited for peace.

"Stephanie," he said. And he held her tight and kissed her.

**AN: Dunno where the heck this came from, just decided it was about time Robbie actually had some luck in this world. Why _does_ he need Rex, you ask? Wish I knew. Please, please, PLEASE review or I'm going to have to start holding out on you peoples until I get reviews!**


	5. Remember

**R****emembe****r**

Day is a time for forgetting; night is a time for remembering.

Indecipherable shouts thundered in her ears; an unseen fist caught her jaw. She spun away, into the fog, her face snapping against her cheek as the force of the blow rippled across her body. She heard her own cry echo in her ears; a desperate plea. She _hated_ pleading. She hated how it made her feel, that weak, shaky feeling that says everything is totally outside her control. But there was no other way to feel as he came after her, getting bigger by the second until she was that terrified six-year-old again, screaming and pleading and fighting and Daddy, please, _please_ don't hurt me –

"Jade! Jade!"

"Get off! Get off me, damn you, or I swear to God I'll –"

"Jade, baby, it's me!"

"_Beck_." His name hissed across her lips like a whip, snapping her back to this side of reality, where time was linear and the past would never return. Not like her dreams. So not like her dreams.

He released her wrists cautiously, keeping his eyes on her as he turned off the TV. "You dozed off before the movie ended. Are you okay?"

She was horribly aware of exactly where she was now: stretched out across his RV's sofa, the clock blaring that she had missed her curfew once again. Her piercings had rubbed her raw where she had burrowed her face into the couch; her clothes were soaked with cold sweat and twisted around her body; tears of makeup streamed down her face. She took a deep shuddering breath, scrambling for her mask. "Well, yeah I'm okay, Beck, what do I look like?"

"Well –"

"If you say _anything_ other than fine –"

"All right, all right!" He caught her chin. Gently. "Babe, you're beautiful and you're _safe_, okay?"

He always knew just what to say, even when she wasn't sure what she wanted to hear. She relaxed carefully against him, drawing every comfort possible from his warmth. He tousled her sweat-matted hair. "What was the dream about?"

"It doesn't matter anymore," she said. Her mantra; her creed; her wish. "It doesn't matter."

He bit his lip, but didn't say anything. She drew herself up slightly, studying his face. Tracing every line with her eyes. Maybe, just maybe, if she learned it well enough, if she let herself get close enough, one day his face would replace her father's. Maybe she might learn to look forward to nights instead of dreading them. Maybe she wouldn't end up like she'd always feared: bitter, afraid and terribly alone, disguising her pain with waspish words and harsh makeup.

Before Beck, she knew damn well she'd been halfway there.

A smile tugged on one side of his mouth. "What are you thinking?"

"This," she said, and leaned forward to kiss him.

She kissed him as if just one of his kisses would drive off the demons. She kissed him as if his perfection would make up for her lack of it. She kissed him as if his whispered "I love you" would make the past fade away.

She kissed him as if she was worthy of saying it back.


	6. Hope

**AN: Thank you so much for the nice reviews! Don't stop now! Here it is - Cat's grand entrance . . . enjoy and REVIEW!**

**H****op****e**

Day is a time for hurt; night is a time for hope.

She knew how the world worked. Nobody thought she did. She liked being the innocent little flower, the one who brought smiles to people's faces. Still, she knew lies. And hate. And pain. She saw a lot more than she was given credit for. She saw pain in Robbie's eyes when someone mentioned their mom. She saw the way Tori's eyes lingered on André, almost as gently and tenderly as André's eyes lingered on her. She saw how Jade flinched when any man but Beck touched her. She saw Trina's envy.

Yes, she knew strife. She just chose to ignore it.

Until nighttime.

Her little brother was in bed; her parents were climbing in. She placed the pill she was supposed to swallow in her sock drawer with all the others. She wasn't offended. She knew they meant well, and the nice doctors too. They wanted her to "live a normal life." Well, maybe she didn't want to live normal. Maybe she'd seen how normal people were way too friendly with pain. She preferred it as an acquaintance.

So she palmed the pills and drank the water, just to keep them happy.

When the house had quieted and the only noise was her brother's music, she slipped out of bed. The nights were definitely getting warmer, she decided as she slid open her window. Summer was on its way.

She'd figured this out a while ago, back when she'd known pain pretty well, before she'd realized that at least for her, it was a choice. Twist around, use the little foothold behind the window, grab the edge and pull. In a minute flat she was up, legs sprawled out as she straddled the roof. Pasadena spread out below her, cars swarming like angry fireflies and neon signs flashing like faraway lightning. Trees dotted the city like green Q-tips, bushy and fluffy and so much fun to climb in. She could almost see Tori's house from here. She imagined she could almost see the end of the world.

But she didn't come up here to look down. Cat came up here to look up.

She lay back, feeling the familiar dig of the ridged roof in her back. She folded her arms behind her head and crossed her ankles daintily, her hair a shower of velvet tumbling down the roof. The night was blissfully clear of any clouds, and her eyes shone as she looked at the stars.

She'd named them all, a long time ago. Almost every single one, she was sure of it. But at one time or other she'd forgotten one, or two, or let one fade away, until they were simply a multitude of jewels again, each unique but all nameless. Except that one special star, right up there. That was her star. She'd claimed it ever since childhood. She could always find it, no matter what time of night it was. And she'd always remembered its name. It was a pretty name, not like Polaris or Betelgeuse or those ugly names scientists seemed to love. It was so pretty she'd never told anybody. She'd held it close, a precious secret, and whispered it to herself when pain came knocking.

But she didn't just want to see her star. Up here, Cat was a girl on a mission. Her mission was to grant every one of her friends as much luck as she could.

So she wished. She pointed to the blue star below Orion's Belt and wished Robbie would learn to live. She found the tail of the Little Dipper and wished Beck would help Jade heal up nicely. She giggled at the cheery wink of the littlest star in the sky and wished Tori and André a happily ever after. She wished Robbie's mom would come back because he missed her, and that Jade's daddy would realize that hurting his little girl was wrong, and that even Trina would realize that she was pretty and fine just who she was and that she would stop being mean to everybody. She wished that pretty blonde Robbie was falling all over would treat him nice.

They didn't know she knew all this. She was fine with that. Wishes worked best behind the scenes.

She stayed up there all night, dreaming and hoping. She hung a wish on every star, big wishes on the bright ones that could handle it, little wishes on the small ones who seemed fragile. But for her star, she saved one for her. She didn't wish for herself often, but when she did, she meant it, from the deepest, secretest part of her heart.

On her star, she wished for love.


End file.
